


At Least You're Not Alone

by cheesecloth



Series: September 2017 Oneshots [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst?, Blackwatch, Gen, Hanamura, M/M, Mentions of other characters - Freeform, Oneshot, Young!Hanzo, Young!McCree, i think, it's not that sad, pre-canon meeting, why can't i call him Jesse?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-02
Updated: 2017-09-02
Packaged: 2018-12-23 00:33:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11978367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheesecloth/pseuds/cheesecloth
Summary: Today was the sixth anniversary, the sixth month after the mission that got screwed to hell when one of his Blackwatch allies died in a Hanamura mission. McCree didn't expect to fall so hard into that spiral of grief. He barely knew the guy. But something in him broke. He's visited every month since. Sometimes, he'd catch sight of another man, kneeling down in front of an unmarked grave.





	At Least You're Not Alone

Today was the sixth anniversary, the sixth month after the mission that got screwed to hell when one of his Blackwatch allies died in a Hanamura mission.

McCree didn't expect to fall so hard into that spiral of grief. He barely knew the guy.

But something in him broke. Not long before that Hanamura mission, Reyes had told him his people...Deadlock...they were all dead. At that time, he shook. With grief, fucked up relief, he didn't know. He wasn't there when Blackwatch finished them off. Reyes had already recruited him by then. But he was there to help them bury his former gang.

 

  
And the death at Hanamura? It struck him hard. He could lose anyone. There are a few people in Overwatch that he grew close enough to.

Lena, Genji, Winston, Reinhardt...even Ana and her daughter. They became like a family to him.

 

The second anniversary, McCree visited the makeshift grave Blackwatch left their fallen comrade in Hanamura.

He realized then that not only could he lose anyone and everyone, but they could lose him too. He imagined then how Fareeha might react to the news of his death. How Angela might personally request for his body to be taken to Gibraltar so they could hold his funeral there. So they could see him again one last time in person before bidding him farewell.

 

It was the third anniversary, and McCree was kneeling at the unmarked grave. He already forgot the ally's name. He wondered then if the man's family even knew he was dead. That his corpse was six feet below McCree's shaking legs.

McCree didn't want it to be widely known, but he could cry too. He could gasp, his lungs shaking with the rest of him as tears fell onto the dirt below.

Grass had already begun to grow.

 

  
It's the fourth month since the guy's death, and McCree felt ashamed that he could barely remember the guy's face. He thought to ask Reyes for the guy's name, at least, a few weeks before. But every time he thought about bringing Hanamura back into Reyes's mind, he remembered the distraught look on his face.

They lose men a lot. Reyes knew that. McCree knew that. But this death also seemed to strike some kind of mortality into his superior. He'd look at McCree, every so often, with a glazed look in his eyes.

Maybe he also wondered what McCree's funeral would be like. He would always feel strangely flattered that his usually no-nonsense "I hate you all" leader might possibly grieve at his funeral. But then he'd also get hit by that itch.

That itch to get on the nearest plane to Hanamura and silently apologize to the nameless man.

Looking down at the grave mound, McCree was brought back to the present. None of the locals thought it was weird to see him here anymore. He'd stay for a few hours, staring at the ground, before getting up and heading back to his hotel for a few days before heading back to Blackwatch.

They knew by now that he went somewhere. Every month on the anniversary of their ally's death. Reyes just thought he would disappear and get drunk. But unluckily for McCree, he can't bring alcohol on the plane, and sake's got a bit of a bite to it.

Getting up on aching but sturdy legs, McCree looked around at the graveyard. It was a large one. A few locals would come here to pray to their dead relatives and ancestors. Some came to honor the dead, even though no one they knew was buried here.

It was some weird tradition, and in a way, McCree felt like he was a part of something here. Something ancient and sad, but real.

The man's grave was in a quiet corner, with other nameless graves. One could get lost trying to find the right one, but McCree remembers. Four rows down. Third from the left.

It's the fourth month.

The same month he first sees raggedly cut dark hair. There's a man, one row in front of him. Can't be older than McCree, but it looked like he was growing a few gray hairs.

He wore many layers, which was fine because it was winter, but it looked like the guy had a bow next to him. He was sitting just as lifelessly as McCree had been, though his prosthetic legs were tucked under him. McCree wondered how he hadn't noticed the guy slipping into this corner of the graveyard.

McCree stared at the sight of the other grieving soul before heading back to his hotel.

Maybe today he could give another try to that sake.

 

  
The fifth month was the same. Four and a half cold hours on the ground, McCree was lost in his thoughts as he stared at the grave in front of him. The grass still had frost on it from the chilly morning.

Twenty minutes past and this time he heard soft footsteps on the ground. They were so light McCree almost missed them. He adjusted his black hat so he could look up at the same guy he saw last month.

They both stared at one another for a moment, each wary. When neither of them had anything to say, they looked away, and the guy continued his way to the unmarked grave a row in front of him.

Those dark eyes looked haunted. McCree looked at the back of the guy's head as he gently sat down and bowed that same head.

The raggedly cut hair was now a little groomed. Those gray hairs still peeked out around his ears. He was young, but whoever's death haunted him made his soul age with the grief.

McCree realized then why the sight of the man's hair affected him so much. He remembered Genji's words, when he once asked him why many Japanese men had long hair. When the question left his mouth, he thought himself rude. But Genji began to laugh. He didn't do that often.

He told McCree that long hair was thought of as a sign of honor. When a man lost his honor, he cut his hair. It is then that others may see just how honorless he is. How unworthy he is.

McCree thought it was ridiculous; no man would do that to himself and pronounce to the world that they have lost everything they thought themselves worthy of. To be side glanced at like you're someone to avoid. Someone that's worth less than the very dirt in this graveyard.

But then he saw those haunted eyes.

 

  
So it has come to today. The sixth anniversary. He walks the path to the quiet corner of nameless graves and sees the man there first this time. It's the third time he's ever seen him, but McCree feels a little connected to him. The same way he feels connected to the people that come to grieve people they barely knew, or didn't know at all.

By the time he reaches the right row- four rows down, third to the left, the same repeating mantra he hears every moment on the airplane here -he realizes something is different.

McCree slows down.

There's a soft sound coming from the haunted soul in front of him. As McCree sits down at the familiar mound, he finally hears it.

A hitch in the man's breath.

McCree's careful eyes traced every bit of the man he could see. The guy's shoulders were shaking lightly-

The guy suddenly bowed his whole body low into the dirt, startling the young cowboy. McCree could hear that soft hitching sound again, and he finally realizes it.

This man was crying.

McCree spared a glance down at the ground below him. The unknown ally could wait.

As he shifted up, the man in front of him flinched, as if realizing McCree was there. He was motionless as the cowboy shifted his hat back and came to sit beside him.

McCree nearly drank himself to death with that spiteful sake last month after seeing this shaken man again. The owner of the bar was angry, and yelled at him in Japanese. Even without understanding a single word, McCree knew that the man was saying that he was never again allowed to walk on his property.

So he brought some sake this time with him in a flask after downing the first half of the bottle. The clerk at the store had stared at him with wide eyes and mumbled something in that same tongue that McCree didn't know.

He took out that same flask now, and silently offered it to the short, black haired man. Both as an apology for intruding, and as a gesture that he wasn't alone in the world.

He blinked at McCree warily, but soon came to some kind of conclusion and practically downed the sake.

McCree didn't blame him. Nodding, he made to stand up, but the man beside him caught his prosthetic arm.

He noted the slight surprise in the guy's eyes. But then the guy shook his head to ward off his thoughts and motioned for McCree to sit down again.

They sat in that continued silence for a while. For hours, even.

When the man's breath finally calmed (he'd been crying silently on and off for a long time), he reached for McCree's arm again and squeezed gently. His arm may be metal, but he could feel it. He could feel the man thanking him.

They finally looked at one another again, and both of them stood up.

"Uh, I gotta head back." McCree awkwardly dipped his hat at him, voice scratchy from hours of non-use.

The guy was still silent, so McCree figured he couldn't speak a lick of English.

"Thank you." The sudden deep voice startled the cowboy.

"O-oh, yeah sure! Figured ya needed some o' that sake-"

"No. Thank you," The man's eyes were trained on him, an unimaginably small edge of peace in them, "Thank you for staying."

Oh. McCree remembered the guy's silent steps. The bow. The haunted eyes. How he flinched when he hadn't heard McCree approach. When was the last time this guy was around anyone? Was he like him? Has he killed before? Why had he trusted McCree to sit behind him while he stared lifelessly at his own patch of dirt on the ground?

"It's no problem, friend. See ya again next month?" He couldn't help that hopefulness in his voice.

Something sparked in the other man's eyes. His eyes flicked all over McCree, as if memorizing him. He then nodded.

"Yes."

"Good, I'll bring some extra sake for the both of us, 'f I can." McCree mumbled, a hesitant smile on his face.

The guy huffed, a slow but sure tug at the corner of his lips indicating a small smile of agreement. He walked a few paces away, his movements graceful despite the hours of sitting still, and he looked back at McCree.

"Until we meet again," he remarked gravely.

McCree dipped his hat again, feeling a bit cheerful for the first time in this cold, sad graveyard.

"'Til we meet again," McCree repeated, and they parted ways.

 

  
The seventh anniversary, McCree sat alone by his old ally's grave, and knew then that he would never again see that man in the graveyard.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I'mma start a September Overwatch Fic Oneshot Challenge for myself, on the road to getting ready for NaNoWriMo. 
> 
> Most of it's likely gonna be McHanzo. I'm a bit obsessed.  
> Even more so since I haven't played Overwatch in weeks because I don't have internet at home. I'm legitimately going crazy!
> 
> Have any questions for me? Any suggestions? Please contact me at: flufficient.contact@gmail.com


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